


Moderation

by EnlacingLines



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Dimivain, Confessions, First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Regret, background Dorogrid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: When he watches Ashe turn away, he wants to give anything to have that attention back; those soft silences and understanding words which, from just barely a minute of rejection, are probably taken from him forever.Felix has made a terrible mistake. And he doesn’t think there is any way of changing it.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	Moderation

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen headfirst for Ashelix. Yes, I'm in multishipping hell, yes the rarepairs are getting rarer. 
> 
> Valania, you wonderful, lovely person thank you for betaing. And also just being lovely. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading.

The night before battle is a gap in time, fluidity between an ending or a beginning. In the unreal height of darkness thoughts wander, Felix particularly hates the way his parts whir in anticipation. 

It makes emotions run raw. Too many accidents occur on the eve of battle, and too many words go both said and unsaid. It seems, he thinks as he stands by his tent opening watching nightfall, it is one of those evenings. 

Ingrid and Dorothea have been exchanging looks over firelight without actually speaking, now both on the other side of the camp. He watched Sylvain say something to Dimitri that had him storming into his tent minutes later. Felix is giving Sylvain a few more minutes before he drags him out of his funk. They can’t go into battle like that. 

But for now he just waits. Not his forte, but he’s learned the value of waiting. Waiting for the dawn to realise those he cares about are still here, for their King to return when all claimed he was dead, for the past to catch up. Time reveals all in it’s own arrogant way, even as his fingers itch to grab it for himself. 

“Felix?” 

He turns at Ashe’s call. Unexpected; he is sure of all people, Ashe would be sensible enough to retire in good time, but of course it’s not always as simple as logic. 

Ashe approaches, Felix saying nothing for he knows he doesn’t have to. Ashe is good at filling silences—not in the prattling way Sylvain, does but in finding the words which fit the gaps at the right time. It’s one of the reasons Felix enjoys talking to him, or had learned he did in their few conversations before all this began. 

It’s hardly been the time for chatter, and it’s strange that in this moment, he’s realised how much he’s missed it. 

An owl cries and Ashe jumps, which with anyone else would make Felix scoff that they are a soldier—a knight in the making yet on edge at animals; but with Ashe, he just sighs at the inevitability. 

Ashe turns to him and even in the gloom, he can see the flush on his cheeks. “I suppose I should be used to the sounds at night but, it still surprises me,” he explains. 

“This is the last time you’ll have to hear them,” Felix says, aiming for comfort but it falls between them as obliteration, a reminder that one way or another, tomorrow this ends for the two of them. 

So Felix walks, Ashe following as he’d hoped he would, not having to direct or ask. Just a little further, still close to camp but away from their last conversation until Felix is staring out at the Imperial Palace, the setting for their daybreak conquest. 

He is content with the silence of just being here, Ashe a strangely comforting presence by his side until the other man clears his throat. Felix sighs and turns. 

“What?” 

Ashe smiles, although it seems unbidden when his posture is contorted with seriousness. 

“I wanted to talk to you. Specifically. Before tomorrow,” he says, broken sentences causing confusion as Ashe is not normally one to struggle with words. 

Felix waits. Although internally he is impatient, he finds that he’s content with the seconds ticking by as Ashe collects himself and looks Felix straight in the eye. 

“I admire you, greatly. Your words have always struck me deeply when we’ve talked but… in particular, you helped me become confident in being who I am. Without our conversations, after Lonato’s death, I’m not sure I would have been able to stick to my aims and goals. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. And I—” 

“Ashe,” Felix says, just about resisting taking a step backwards because he knows where this is going. He feels heat crawl up towards his neck, mouth running dry and a ringing in his ears. 

He doesn’t understand. He’s watched this happen all evening but he never could have fathomed being on the receiving end. Felix is not someone who inspires romance, both just from his own views on the matter and in general, as it’s not the time. Unlike his friends who seem to think it’s now or never, Felix knows it’s more dangerous to care deeply in the midst of war. Sylvain’s reckless behaviour has him yelling for hours and they are best friends; he cannot fathom how having a romantic partner would do anything but make you weaker. 

He is not built for romance. He doesn't think about it, doesn’t want it, doesn’t understand it. And that’s fine. Until it’s suddenly not; he has no idea how to handle this situation. 

“I thought as much.” 

He tunes back in to see that mimic of a smile back on Ashe’s face, which unexpectedly pulls at him. 

“I knew it was probably too much to hope that you would feel similarly, but well. There’s something about tonight that made me need to tell you. I hope it hasn’t caused too much upset,” Ashe says, sounding resigned and Felix winces. 

“No,” he says, for it’s true it hasn’t caused him upset. Just tilted his world view dramatically but it’s not… upsetting. 

Which is not helping with the world tilting, either. 

“Then, I’ll say goodnight. We do have a big day tomorrow,” he says, with a dark levity that Ashe from their schoodays would not have. These ways they have all changed hit in random moments. 

“Good night,” Felix says automatically, and Ashe gives him one more smile before turning back to his tent. 

Felix stands, truly alone now and stares unseeingly back at the palace. It’s the best way, he thinks a few moments later as he returns, seeing Sylvain has not emerged. He takes it upon himself to rouse his friend, to not think of it. In the face of battle, it pales in comparison. 

But something in the very corner of his mind wonders if that is, in fact, right. 

* * *

Felix is not a hero. An idle comment from a foot soldier last night exclaimed there would be songs written of this day; of their victory against the Emperor, of the heroes who surrounded the King on what is proving to be just as heinous as expected. If not more. 

He isn’t sure why he recalls this as he feels the burn of recall from the Thoron he throws at a soldier before him; the swipe of his sword doesn’t feel heroic, gallant or something to make legends of. Before him, his heartbeat spikes as Sylvain takes an arrow to the side only, to right himself as Mercie heals him as she runs by. 

It’s a never ending mess of blood and screams. This is not the stuff of legends. 

The enemy is endless. Yet they push, they run, they fire and slash. His arm aches from the magic he’s used, and he fires off one more spell, a scream erupting as it seems the lightning which strikes cracks his own skin on leaving. But the path he creates allows Ingrid to fly through, her lance taking down several enemies at once as Felix unsheathes a sword and drives forward. 

Arrows rain and foes before him fall, Ashe’s aim true as ever. _This is nothing like your stories, is it?_ He thinks, as he cuts down a mage before they can strike Mercie. He feels his arm cool as she, in return, heals him enough to begin casting again. 

Dimitri and Byleth are inside the throne room. There’s no telling what’s occurring; he has to put his trust in them. As he thinks this he’s knocked from his feet, breath pushing pushing out in a gasp as a crush of pain is punched through his chest. 

He rolls over, sees the mage, and casts Thoron, hitting him square in the chest at the same time as an arrow thunks in, the combined attack taking them down. Felix grins then coughs, wincing as metal pools in his mouth.

_How much longer can we do this?_

He cuts though four more Imperial soldiers before an answer is given. There’s a ripple in the air which sends a shudder into his bones, and for a second he feels that the foundations beneath them are shaking. Then, the surrenders begin—not wholly; others charge forward to make their final marks and are either killed or wounded for their prize. But enough drop their weapons for Felix to know what has happened.

They’ve won. 

The door of the throne room opens and Felix turns to see Byleth, arm clasped around Dimitri, his lance dyed red and a number of wounds on both. But alive. And victorious. 

Around them, cheers begin. Felix cannot bring himself to join, but slumps onto the floor with a dizzying nausea. It’s over. At least, this part is. Everything in itself is far from over, but for now this part, this endless battle, is closed. He hears the beat of wings and looks up to see Ingrid land, almost tripping over debris in her haste. 

“We did it,” she says and sounds as shocked as he feels. For this has been their lives for so long, an ending seemed impossible; this is what they have been trained for, raised for, built for. 

But it is done. 

Sylvain rides to them, throws his arms over Ingrid and then lifts her high, spinning her in a way that seems dizzying to him from his place on the ground. For once, Ingrid does not protest but laughs, a little too high and loud in his ears but real; a real sound of laughter among the blood and death and destruction. 

They all start to gather, and Felix finds himself being hauled to his feet by Sylvain, who grips him tightly. This and the spinning embrace he’s given to Ingrid casts Felix back to a time when all four of them laughed and touched without concern of anything past the next adventurous playtime plan. Felix finds himself gripping hard on Sylvain’s shoulder—a momentary lapse in emotion he won’t ever admit occurred. As Sylvain pulls back, Felix stumbles. Immediately, he’s steadied. 

“Take a hit?” Sylvain states, and Felix rolls his eyes, seeing as his friend’s hair is matted with half dried blood. 

“Haven’t we all? I can stand,” he protests, but Sylvain doesn’t let go and Felix doesn’t ask him to again. He likes that affirmation that this is real. This is here and now. 

He spots Ashe then out of the corner of his eye. Annette is hugging him tightly before reaching up to heal a cut on his cheek, most likely from a glancing arrow. Felix’s mouth clicks in a strange way as his stomach rolls, but his attention is immediately drawn by Dimitri and Byleth’s return. 

Up close, he can see Byleth is half supporting him, a nasty looking wound she’s obviously just healed appearing near his shoulder. He wants to ask, demand an explanation, but keeps that confusing thought at bay; he doesn’t know how he feels, how he will ever feel again about Dimitri. It’s too muddled for his tired mind to cope with now. 

Their King, for that’s how he appears now as he straightens, looks them all in the eye. 

“Edelgard is dead. This war is finished, my friends,” he says, a small smile of genuine relief touching his face, though the agony in his eyes is too easy to read. 

The sentiment of the words hit for the group exchange glances, small smiles of gratitude but there is little celebration at the pronouncement. None of them want to revel in death. But they know that sometimes, it is inevitable. 

“We must ensure the palace is secure, but this fight is over. Do not let your guard down in case of loyalists, though I should think they are long gone. Tonight you can all rest easy,” Dimitri adds, Byleth smiling at this, more so than Felix has seen her do so before. 

It’s Mercedes who begins it, stepping forward and without a word, inclining her head. Then one by one they all do, Felix grudgingly only doing so after Sylvain taps his thigh, but he sees the look of surprise on Dimitri’s face as they do; his soldiers, his friends bowing to their King at the end of the war. 

Felix rises first, not looking anywhere near Dimitri’s eyes. It’s all ceremony, after all. 

“I—I thank you. All of you, for what you have done. I will continue to work on being the King you deserve. You have my eternal gratitude for everything,” Dimitri says, and that appears to be the end of it, 

There’s a huff from the other side of Sylvain as they all start turning to one another, arms clamping and hugs all over. He peers past Sylvain to see Dorothea run a hand through her hair, her dress torn and covered in mud and grizzle, but her face set and determined. 

“Now or never,” she says, loud enough for Sylvain to also turn. Then, she marches forward. Felix hisses as Sylvain grips onto his arm, but then stills once he clocks the direction she walks in. 

For Dorothea steps with her usual forceful intent to where Ingrid and Mercedes stand. She waits for long enough for Ingrid to notice her, then closes the gap and—

Kisses her. 

In the middle of the battle field, right after they’ve just declared themselves victors without victory, she kisses her with a fierceness that sparks an emotion locked deep and abandoned in his chest. Felix hears himself choke, watches as Mercedes’ hand fly to her face in surprised delight, hears Sylvain start giggling next to him. The giggle ceases as soon as Ingrid’s arms fly around Dorothea’s waist, for Sylvain immediately cheers. Mercedes, who has now walked closer to them, laughs outright and starts clapping. Around them, several soldiers also join the cheer, love in the face of death, a flare in the dullness of the aftermath. 

Felix can feel his mouth pulling into a smile, more so as the two part Ingrid looks hideously embarrassed and Dorothea proud as anything. He sighs as he elbows Sylvain who is making entirely too much noise. 

He makes the mistake of looking up though as he does. For Sylvain’s gaze is lost to the left, where Felix’s eyes then roam to Dimitri, who is smiling wider than Felix can remember, happiness for Ingrid so clear in his face. And beside him stands Ashe. Who, just as Felix looks over, seems to sense his gaze, for their eyes lock for a simple second; nothing more poignant than an accidental catch. Ashe smiles and nods once, as Felix realises they haven’t interacted at all since last night. He turns back to the couple. 

It’s the breaking of eye contact which does it; enables him to conclude exactly what Ingrid and Dorothea’s kiss had sparked within. That despite his pronouncements on the weakness of love, he sees nothing but strength in the two who stand hand in hand, war torn and scarred, yet happy and adoring. That when he watches Ashe turn away, he wants to give anything to have that attention back; those soft silences and understanding words which, from just barely a minute of rejection, are probably taken from him forever. 

Felix has made a terrible mistake. And he doesn’t think there is any way of changing it. 

* * *

Weeks melt by. As Felix suspected, their battle against Edelgard does not mean that the world is suddenly right. There is almost too much to do now that they do not have the singular threat of war on their heels. Now, there are competing priorities and questions, as well as individual responsibilities. 

It’s a nice distraction, at least. For when he has a moment to spare, Felix despises himself in the ways his mind likes to torment him. 

Heartbreak is not a term he ever believed in, for romance is not something he ever thought he’d endure. Grief and sadness he is a familiar friend to, but this is its own brand of pain. It is akin to losing someone, but he never had Ashe in the first place. And Ashe is alive—demonstrably so, seeing as Felix still sees him everyday; just as chipper and pleasant as he’s always been. 

Which makes the ache deepen. Ashe is technically the one who was rejected, yet why is he acting as if there is nothing wrong? While Felix, who only just realised the depth of his feelings, is facing an annoying amount of pain for his decisions. 

This is why he’s stayed away from this type of feeling before. He’s been subjected to the second-hand heartache of the women Sylvain’s cast aside for many years, and since the war truly began, the way he’s looking at Dimitri of all people. Of course, there are the lucky few like Ingrid, but even then he knows in unfortunate detail this is only after years of turmoil. 

None of this feels worth it. Not the pounding of his heart when someone who even remotely looks like Ashe appears round a corner; not the nights when he replays their final conversation in his mind a thousand ways, thinks of anything he could have done better only to wake up in the current reality. Not the tiny, faint hopes that he can change things when Ashe chances a glance and acknowledges him. 

They haven’t spoken since the night before the battle. Ashe obviously has no need to, and Felix has a need but no reason. He’s almost relieved that he needs to return to Fraldarius territory before the coronation; normally, he’d be aggrieved at the effort of travelling so far in order to just return again, but the stifling nature of the past few weeks is causing him to almost wish he could stay away from the capital for as long as possible. 

Sylvain decides he’s returning back to Gautier lands on the same day, which has Felix glaring. His father still rules over their land, while Felix’s uncle has been managing since his father's death. Felix has to return while Sylvain could easily have stayed, and it’s stranger still that he actively wants to venture home. 

Except when Sylvain has the audacity to sigh wistfully up towards the throne room, Felix wants to slam his head against the wall and simultaneously grasp his shoulder in fellowship. He can’t decide what’s more horrifying; Sylvain pining after someone he can’t have, or Felix doing exactly the same thing. 

Well, at least Sylvain’s is due to inaction rather than terrible choices. For once. 

“Oh, Felix. I heard you were leaving this morning.” 

It appears that even Ashe’s voice is causing him problems now. The statement sends a flash of something not unlike the recall of a spell through him, and he has to take a moment to remember how to breathe. 

Ashe stands near the doorway, pleasant and peaceful smile on his face as if the world is all to rights. Felix can barely stand it. 

“Yes. I’ll be back for the coronation,” he says, not meaning to add in the second phrase. 

Ashe nods. “Well, I wish you a safe trip,” he says, then turns to leave, nothing more to be said. 

Which he absolutely cannot stand. It heats his face, makes his fingers clench and he steps forward. 

“Ashe!” he calls, voice only slightly raised, but Ashe turns as if it truly were a shout. 

“Yes Felix? Is there something you wanted?” he says, clearly curious. 

But Felix can’t even explain why he called his name. He’s just reeling for a moment on the impulsiveness that has gotten the best of him. combined with having Ashe’s full attention for the first time in weeks. He has no idea where to go from here. 

“Felix? Are you okay?” Ashe says, and as he does he walks right up to him, peering closely to check for injuries or sickness. The proximity makes him gulp, clearly able to count every single freckle on Ashe’s cheeks if he wished to. 

And he does wish to, which is enough of a thought to snap him out of it. He steps back once, and shakes his head. 

“Apologies. I must be going,” he says, before, without a word, leaving. Ashe doesn’t call after him, doesn’t move to stop him. Just leaves Felix and his confused mind to depart the palace. 

* * *

Felix never wanted to be Duke Fraldarius, and it’s a horrifying set of circumstances which has brought him here. But duty is duty, and at least his gripes can be understood by his best friend, who equally doesn’t wish for the title he has. 

Unfortunately it’s not the only thing he understands, as Sylvain seems to make it his life’s goal to see through Felix’s hard created exteriors. 

“What’s up with you and Ashe?” he asks when they’ve barely been travelling a day. 

“Nothing,” Felix says, which only makes Sylvain’s eyebrow’s rise. 

“Uh huh. You used to talk more, and now you won’t even look at him,” Sylvain prods and Felix just glares in reply. 

Except by now the glare has lost its effect and Sylvain just leans towards him on his horse, which makes Felix fear he’ll topple over, and pushes him back. Sylvain laughs. 

“Okay, seriously, you don’t have to talk to me, but I’m here if you want to. You both used to be good friends, and now you’re not. I’m just worried,” Sylvain says, bumping Felix’s shoulder then steering his horse back to an appropriate distance. 

Felix says nothing in reply; just watches the world pass, flanked by men of both their houses, the smallest the King would allow them to part with. There is discontent—the people are glad to have their King back but wartime was not kind; people have suffered, are still suffering, and that makes them desperate. Even now, away from the direct areas of conflict, there are signs; ground over-farmed, homes falling to pieces, graveyards too full too early. An attack is unlikely, but could occur. 

It’s therefore not the time for a private conversation, but Sylvian has given an out for the itching in his mind, and Felix is tired of his constant ruminations on the topic. At least talking about it is a step forward.

“Ashe confessed his feelings for me. Well, almost,” Felix says. 

Sylvain whips around so fast his horse missteps, and he spends a moment having to calm it before turning back to Felix. 

“I’m sorry, are you telling me Ashe has feelings for you?” Sylvain says, voice low enough to hopefully not be overheard, but the disbelieve clear. 

“You don’t have to sound so appalled,” Felix says and Sylvain rides closer. 

“I’m just surprised. I mean, Ashe is so idealistic which is… admirable, but not what I’d assume would be a good combination with you. I can see why that was an awkward situation,” Sylvain says. 

Felix doesn’t reply though, thinking of how Ashe had compared him to a knight in a story book, one of Glenn’s favourites. And while Felix can never, will _never_ see the heroics of the battlefields he’s lived through, Ashe can always seem to garner some sort of positivity from every story. 

“Wait… wait, wait, wait.” 

Sylvain’s tone grips him from the past and he turns to see his friend staring at him. 

“You… Felix, you like him,” he hisses and Felix’s eyes widen. 

“What?” he hisses back, aware they now look exactly like they did as children, bickering on horseback as they pass through the countryside. 

“It’s not awkward because Ashe likes you, and you don’t return his feelings, it’s awkward because you do… that doesn’t make sense. Explain,” Sylvain almost demands, but now Felix has begun, he can’t keep the truth back. 

He waits as Sylvain digests the story, then turns to stare Felix in the eye. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says simply, and Felix feels his rage fly; knows Sylvain is right but does not think he has any right to say so. 

“You are hardly one to judge, running away from your own relationship issues,” Felix says and regrets it, very much does; lashing out is an old habit when he’s cornered. 

Sylvain’s sigh is heavy. “Sure, fine. I’m running away. But I’m in love with a King I can’t be with while you accidentally rejected the person who you love for no reason other than fear. And instead of doing something about it, you are running away, too.” 

They both descend into silence then, Felix’s hand tightening on the reigns of his horse, teeth grinding together, jaw locked painfully. He hates all of this; he and Sylvian have come far from the fragile friends they were once they reunited at the academy. He shouldn’t be falling back on old methods of insults. 

Yet another example of these feelings not being a good development. 

“I’m sorry, Sylvain,” he says, when the silence gets too much. He’s been apologising so much more in this past year than in his whole life, and he feels this will not change anytime soon. He sighs deeply, then turns to his friend. 

“And why can’t you be with him? It’s a terrible choice, but apparently we can’t control these things,” he says with a huff, and Sylvain bursts into laughter. 

“Wow, you really are gone, aren’t you?” he says once the laughter dies down. Felix doesn’t answer, knows it’s a deflection. Sylvain shakes his head. 

“Can you imagine it? It’s not… he’s the _King_ ,” Sylvain says wrestling with nonsensical problems that make Felix roll his eyes. 

“I am not going to imagine anything like that. And yes, he is the King. But you think after our entire lives of seeing each other through what we have, something such as a title matters? Stop making excuses,” Felix states. 

Sylvain blinks, then his mouth half pulls up, a real shaky smile that pulls at Felix’s heart. 

“Ha… maybe. And what about you? Don’t let someone you care about go when you might have a chance,” Sylvain says. 

But Felix sighs. It’s been too long, and he’s done nothing but avoid Ashe. Even their parting one day ago didn’t help his case, and it would be weeks until they would meet again. 

“Doesn’t hurt to try. Ya know, sometimes it’s worth pushing harder for something you want. If it’s that important.” Sylvain says, and Felix resists telling him to take his own advice as the words fizzle in his head. 

* * *

It’s a shock, being back at home, not that it particularly feels like a home. He is the only one living member of his family now, and each room feels like a mausoleum of some part of their past. He longs to rip his father's study to pieces so it no longer feels like a monument, but equally can’t bring himself to. He doesn’t want to be here but this is his now, and he has to get used to it. 

Unless he decides not to. It’s always an option but… well. He isn’t sure. Felix doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and for the first time in a long while, there appear to be options. And all the while is the ticking knowledge and ache of feeling lost—another grave of something that never quite lived. 

Yet Sylvain’s irritatingly positive stance echoes alongside. He’d once told Ashe to be moderate in his passions, not to let his imagination run away with him. His entire life crumbled by losing someone so close to him with similar ideals, and even without knowing Ashe that well at the time, he couldn’t stomach seeing it play out once more. 

But Ashe isn’t Glenn; Felix likes to think that he’s slightly more able to see past that particular pain now. And maybe he isn’t always correct, either. Maybe there are times when moderation is necessary, and moments when there’s a need for excess; like Dorothea kissing Ingrid the first moment they weren’t in a battle for their lives. 

Leave it to Dorothea, of all people, to be his romantic inspiration. 

There are still weeks before the coronation though, and perhaps even now, too much time has passed. Felix can hardly charge back to the palace and tell Ashe how he feels, even if he’s loosening his perspective. He casts his eyes around the study before his gaze falls on a stack of paper. 

A letter. 

He can feel his facial muscles pulling up in disgust. He’s not going to pour his heart into paper, or even declare anything of substance… but perhaps he can start to make amends for his behaviour since the battle. After all, they’ve moved from friends to not speaking which, even if Felix is too late to return an old sentiment, isn’t fair. 

It can be a start at least. And that, Felix can do. 

It takes him days to compose anything, then another to send it, talking himself out of it many times. But then it’s done, gone and due with Ashe in a few days. Those days go by. Then a week, then more and before Felix knows it, it’s time to return for the coronation of King Dimitri. And Ashe has not replied. 

Which is fair. Felix has missed his chance, but at least now he is aware of that and can get past this ache of the potential. Well, he hopes so, anyway. His stubborn emotions tend to not behave as wants, especially seeing as his heart starts to race in nauseating anticipation once he arrives at the palace. 

Fortunately, like much of the time of late, he can distract himself with the flurry of activity. Unfortunately, it means he encounters Ashe for the first time during the ceremony, where he beams proudly as Dimitri takes his crown, the embodiment of the knight. Felix swallows and fidgets, annoyed at how affected he is; only focuses back on the ceremony when Ingrid sends him a pointed look, and he forces himself to look away from Ashe.

He grudgingly admits the coronation goes well. Emotion is high in the room, and between them all after as they make their way to the festivities. Understandable, given all that has befallen them. He notices the way Dimitri leans close to Sylvain whenever they are near, a ghost of hands touching, shoulders brushing and he smiles to himself. Perhaps he’s not the only one who attempted steps forward. 

There is a feast afterward. All the nobles and important figures of the land gathered, moods high and wine flowing moderately. _The old man would have approved_ , he finds himself thinking, which causes something to strike at his ribs, and he has to excuse himself from the group before he stops being able to breathe. 

Outside, it’s cool and the air burns in comparison with the stuffiness of the hall and the multitude of people. Felix leans over the balcony and stares out, unseeing and letting the breeze wash over. There are still some parts of the past that sting and bite without warning, appearing over something trivial that he does not expect. 

Felix will not bow down to the ghosts, unlike Dimitri, but it doesn’t mean they do not leave impressions on his being. The past is the past but the echoes remain for some time, and his father's death still lingers at moments like this. 

“Felix?” 

Once again, Ashe’s voice brings him from his musings, and Felix cannot help but wonder if he has a knack for knowing just when his thoughts crest into overwhelming. He turns and sees Ashe walk onto the balcony, smiling but something far less bright than usual. 

“Ashe,” he acknowledges after a moment, not sure if the man before him has a purpose, or what it might be. 

Ashe tips his head to the side. “Are you okay?” he asks as he steps forward, Felix’s heart beating rapidly as the distance vanishes. 

“No,” Felix says, for he doesn’t have it in him to lie or dodge the question; his honesty usually isn’t something he’s praised for, but despite the way Ashe’s face falls at the truth, it feels better than anything he could have come up with. 

Ashe lets the word settle between them, in that patient way he does when they talk. For a moment, he thinks Ashe is about to ask what’s happened, so he’s grateful when the conversation takes a turn. 

“I got your letter,” Ashe says, a smile in his voice. 

Well, perhaps Felix isn’t entirely overjoyed at the twist. It takes a moment for him to think of an answer. 

“Well, that is a relief. I assumed it had gone missing,” he says, which is only partly true as it’s one of his thoughts, that some stranger is laughing at the Duke of Fraldarius’ attempts at reconciliation. 

Ashe chuckles, almost as if he can see Felix’s mental image. “No, no. I just thought it deserved a conversation,” he says, words gentle as if speaking to an animal ready to bolt. 

Felix swallows, and does have to steady himself. 

“What were you really trying to say, when you wrote it? Not that I didn’t appreciate it; I’ve missed our conversations too, and I’m sad we didn’t get a chance to talk before you left. However, I… get the feeling that it had more meaning than the words themselves,” Ashe says. 

Of course Ashe would be able to read between the lines, to find meaning in things hinted at left unsaid. Felix almost curses himself, writing of all things to a literature lover, as if he wouldn’t be found out. But maybe this makes it easier. So he straightens and looks Ashe in the eye. 

“I realised something too late. Far too late, I imagine. You… when you spoke to me on the battlefield, the night before the final fight, I wasn’t… ready to think of such things,” he says, and it’s the clumsiest set of sentences he’s strung together, but Ashe isn’t telling him to cease. If anything, he seems more interested than when their conversation began. 

“And now?” Ashe prompts. 

Felix sighs and brings a hand to his forehead. Why this is so incredibly difficult he cannot fathom, but he’s twisting himself in knots just to get to the point. 

“Now, I regret that I passed by the opportunity to hear you out on that night,” he says, and hopes it’s not in too much of a rush. 

Ashe gives him another considering look and appears to be fighting a smile. Felix takes that as a good sign. 

“If you weren’t ready, then that’s okay, Felix. You were right, really. The night before a battle isn’t exactly the best place to confess. I should have remembered you told me to be more moderate in my passions,” he says, and Felix cannot be sure who steps forward then. Maybe it’s both of them, if he’s being poetic like that. 

“I also said you should be who you are. And that is apparently, someone who confesses the night before a final battle,” Felix says, and he’s so aware of the waning gap between them. 

Ashe looks as if he’s about to say something, but Felix is finished with talking. He can’t express things in words—he has always said his mind far better with action. Although that action usually involves a sword, he hopes this can translate. So he moves forward, removing any gaps, and watches with slight satisfaction as Ashe’s eyes widen with clear surprise. 

Felix tilts forward and he closes his eyes as their foreheads meet. He feels Ashe exhale shakily, but he doesn’t pull away. Felix gives himself a moment, gives Ashe a moment to move, to protest, but when there’s nothing but their shared breathing his tips up his chin so their lips touch. 

Felix has a sudden striking moment of not having a clue what to do next, and just about resists the urge to freeze up entirely. But it’s countered by the fact that at the first hint of touch, Ashe has the opposite reaction and almost springs into action. 

Ashe presses into him, warm and alive in a way that Felix hasn't realised a person can be. He manages to knock himself into action, so kisses back, startling enough to make Ashe laugh against his lips when a pair of arms rest on his back. Felix's response is to part his lips slightly and kissing back harder, which Ashe sighs into, gripping onto his shoulders as the kiss deepens. Felix still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, so he’s reluctantly happy when Ashe moves his hands from his back to cup his face, the kiss becoming more controlled as Ashe guides him into a rhythm. He feels remotely jealous Ashe already knows what to do, but just focuses on how good of a kisser he is, noting the moment which makes Ashe gasp or shift closer, repeating as often as he can. 

Air is a necessity so they have to part, and Felix realises he’s still leaning forward, still craving that delight and warmth. Ashe chuckles and kisses his forehead, looping arms around his neck while Felix’s remain as his waist.

“No more moderation?” Ashe questions, teasing clearly. Felix laughs before pressing a kiss to his lips, meant to be quick, but ends up deep and longing. 

“Not when it comes to you,” he says, and Ashe makes a choking noise before hiding his head in Felix’s neck. Felix smiles at the night sky, moving a hand to card gently through the small hairs on Ashe’s neck. 

“We should go back in,” he murmurs to Ashe’s temple, and Ashe stands fully before shaking his head. 

“We shouldn’t.” he says, and Felix grins into another kiss, indulging in the new found potential of the night and what will follow in the dawn. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two, I hope to write more very soon. 
> 
> Come find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


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